


The Young Detectives' Club

by HarperRow



Category: Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Hurt Dick Grayson, Sherlock Holmes-esque, Solvin' Mysteries n' Stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2018-12-26 11:00:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12057597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarperRow/pseuds/HarperRow
Summary: Bruce Wayne is a poor teacher at Justice High by day and by night acts as the only consulting detective in Gotham City. One night, a package is delivered to his door, and Bruce is invited to investigate what may be his greatest case yet -- that of his own legacy. However, as he realizes this mystery may be far more complex than he could have ever dreamed, he finds himself enlisting the help of five young, justice-inclined teens. The Young Detectives' Club is born!





	1. Happy Anniversary

The 6:30 am Gotham Public Transit bus rumbled down the bumpy and neglected streets of Gotham, tossing it’s passengers with each new jolt and sending fresh aches through Bruce’s body.  He gripped the pole tighter and brought his briefcase a little closer as a shifty ruffian eyed it from the seat in front of him.  Dealing with a petty thief wouldn’t be a problem, but he was so damn sore from last night that it would be a great inconvenience he would very much like to avoid.  Not only that, but on this day, of all days in particular, his brief case was carrying something far more precious than simply his usual lecture notes and graded science quizzes. So, he kept a composed poker face and a disdainful eye on the young man, refusing to let his guard down even for such a minor threat. You never knew what sort of things people from Gotham were capable of.

The thought was almost enough to make him laugh. In all of Gotham, as the city’s only consulting detective, he might actually be the only one who truly saw what things Gothamites were capable. Horrible, brilliant things that weaved intricate webs of puzzle after puzzle. But, Bruce was a spider and Gotham was _his_ city. There had yet to been a case he had not solved. With Gotham’s police department being what it was, this didn’t always mean justice was wrought, but Commissioner Gordon always seemed to appreciate his thoughts. However, Gordon’s high opinion, while helpful for paying the electricity, wasn’t why he solved the cases.  (It also didn’t pay for anything other than the electricity bill, but that was beside the point.) It was about justice, righting the wrongs of a corrupted city by solving the mysteries and challenging the darkness that plagued Gotham when no one else would dare.  His ‘night job’ as he called it was a perfect combination of mental stimulation and adrenaline.  His own personal high, and Bruce was addicted.

What’s more, last night he may have landed on the mother of all puzzles. It scratched at his brain like a cage animal – the need to get to work and solve. But, he had a class to teach in an hour. And, no matter what brilliance his mind could concoct, he still had rent to pay.

As Bruce made walked the two blocks from the bus stop to Justice High, his mind buzzed anxiously, already itching to work.  The halls only held a few students -- the early morning try-hards and those finishing sports practice – and the teachers, still sipping the weak break room coffee didn’t bother to acknowledge him. Bruce didn’t pay them any mind, their gossip and inconsequential small talk had never interested him.  Besides, he had bigger issues at hand.

“Hello, Mr. Wayne,” a voice greeted from outside his door, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“Ah, hello Dick,” he said, giving a rare smile to the thin, raven haired boy in a ragged sweatshirt.  Dick grinned a lopsided grin back at him, his blue eyes bright despite the impoverished look of the rest of him.  Now, here was a puzzle that Bruce couldn’t help himself from.

His first question would be why any kid would want to go by Dick of all things, but the boy seemed to prefer it despite the relentless teasing he knew Dick got from it.  However, he was a brilliant student, quick witted and talented. Although, for some reason, he could never manage to turn his homework in on time. It wasn’t laziness, he was certain of that. It was when Dick started hanging around his classroom more often, arriving early and wandering the halls then lingering late after school asking questions, drawing him into conversations on everything from the sciences to his ‘night job,’ did Bruce start to look up this odd kid.  Turns out the kid was somewhat of a celebrity, a third of a world-famous acrobatic act. Reading on, he felt a stirring in his chest as the article told the story of the rigging accident that caused his parents to fall to their deaths before his eyes, leaving him prey to the Gotham foster care system. _Gotham corrupted everything it touched_ , Bruce thought bitterly.

However, despite it all, Dick was often seen smiling and joking with his best friend, Wally West.  While often disruptive, he was glad Dick seemed to have found some light in their dark world.  That being said, there were times, often when it was just the two of them that he caught a glimpse of something else in the boy’s eyes. It was often when he showed the boy some of the case files he was working on, a look as his features settled into straight faced concentration.  Something dark and determined looming underneath the clear blue waters of his eyes. A puzzle indeed.

“Tell me,” he said with only a hint of amusement, “did you finish your homework for the day?”

Instead of being properly embarrassed, Dick’s grin only widened into a charming flash of teeth Bruce was sure would have ladies swooning in a couple years’ time.  “Mr. Wayne, it’s like you don’t even know me,” Dick said coyly, adding a couple bats of the eye for good measure. 

Bruce snorted in semi-amusement.  His face remained impassive but Dick seemed to tell he had gotten to him anyways.  “Why don’t you go find Wally before class, make sure he is able to find his way to my room as he always seems to have trouble on Mondays.”

He laughed, “We both know Wally could spend the night outside your door and still be late.”

“Maybe then you’d have some company.”

Something flashed in Dick’s eyes for just the briefest of moments. _There is was again_ , Bruce thought curiously.  But, the boy recovered quickly, his features settling back into a grin that was just a touch too wide.  “Nah, even I need a break from the Wally-show sometimes.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll see you in class, Dick,” he said, turning into the classroom.

Bruce’s briefcase had barely touched the desk before he heard another voice outside his door.

“Good morning, Dick.”  _Not today._

Dick’s response was barely louder than a mutter, “Hello, Ms. Lance.”  Bruce suppressed a groan.

Hoping to deter her away, he began opening his briefcase and organizing the misshapen piles of papers inside, careful to keep the crisp manila folder on the bottom and out of sight. 

“Bruce, don’t think you’re going to fool me with that act.”

“It’s worth a shot,” he grumbled.

She only smirked, flicking her long blonde hair off her shoulder, coming closer until she was leaning on his desk.  “Very funny. You know you missed another teacher’s meeting this morning?”

“Don’t you have some glue-eaters to counsel?”

“They’re going to get stricter about this eventually, you know. Well, of course you know, you know _everything_.” She answered for herself with thick sarcasm.

“Looks like you got me figured out,” he monotoned, still not looking her in the eye.  He had developed a distaste for therapists and the like at a young age. So, how this woman still somehow managed to be one of the only staff members that seemed to enjoy and - more incredulous yet - actively seek out his company was beyond him.

“I know you don’t care Bruce, but I would actually like to see you keep this job.  You really do make a difference for these students.”

“I’ve heard the speech, Dinah.  Inspiring the next generation and all that crap. The ones that bother to look up from their phones aren’t exactly singing my praises.  They really don’t try to hide their opinions on my class or manner of teaching.”

She hummed in response, leaning over to set the small Newton’s cradle into motion.  “It makes a difference to Dick.”  Bruce paused his paper shuffling and sighed.  “I’m glad he’s found someone to talk to. Although, I can’t understand why he’s taken to you,” she added teasingly.

Sitting up again, she pulled forward a crinkled mass wrapped in newspaper that had been poorly concealed behind her back.  “Anyways, I wanted to give this to you before class started.” He cocked an eyebrow before reluctantly taking it and peeling back the paper.  _She used the business section_ , he noted absently.  Inside the gift was a white, cheap looking mug that once said ‘World’s #1 Dad’ but had been crossed out to read, ‘World’s #1 Stoic.’

“Happy one year anniversary at Justice.”

“Thanks, Dinah.”

“Anytime,” she said pushing herself up.  “I’ll see you at the next teacher’s meeting, that is, unless you want to stop by and talk about feelings before then.”

“Good _bye_ , Dinah”

“My door is always open!” She called as she left with a wave.

As Dinah left, he eyed the manila folder peeking out from the bland stack of papers. Dinah was right, he should have gone to the meeting. He needed this job. But, the chase beckoned to him. Just behind the lips of the holder, the answer was in there somewhere… he just had to open it and get to work. He thumbed the edge of the folder.  The mother of all puzzles just for him…

“Mr. Wayne?” Bruce looked up from the folder to find the desks of his classroom filled and twenty pairs of expectant eyes watching him.  He cleared his throat, and a giggle rippled through the room.

“Alright, let’s get started. Pass your papers to the front of the row and open up your lab books. We have a busy day ahead of us.”

 

The school day was a long drawn out blur, like a bug stuck under a windshield wiper, streaking back and forth in a nauseatingly endless cycle. The last period of the day couldn’t have come soon enough. 

This was the class Dick and Wally shared, which was a blessing and a curse.  Dick came in on time and took his place next to the window, but – to no one’s surprise – Wally was nowhere to be seen as the tardy bell rang.  Bruce quirked a brow at Dick who just chuckled and shrugged.

“Alright let’s -- ” Bruce began, only to be interrupted as the door banged opened again.  Wally West stood in the door way looking down the hall at something, his bag was left unzipped and slung over one shoulder.

“Mr. West. You’re tardy.”

He laughed sheepishly and ran a hand through his bright red hair, “Yeah, ok Mr. Wayne. But, hear me out, I was helping a new student.” Wally stepped into the classroom to make way for a red headed young girl with a row of freckles across her nose.

“Um, hello,” she said with a small smile. “I’m Megan Morse, I just started classes here.”

The school had probably sent him an email or a letter to an inbox he never bothered to check. “Welcome to Advanced Chemistry, Ms. Morse. You can take a seat in front of Mr. Grayson by the window. And, Mr. West, you can find a _new_ seat at the front of the class.”

Megan nodded and quickly sat down, glad to be out of the spotlight.  Dick leaned forward and whispered something to her, making the girl giggle in response.  Wally cast a jealous look to his friend from the front. 

“Ok, we’ve wasted enough time. If you bothered to do the homework, pass it to the front of the room.”

~             ~             ~

As the final bell rang, Bruce felt his last ounce of patience leave him with the rush of air as the class emptied out in a matter of moments.  That is, save for his two ‘star’ pupils.

Dick tapped Wally’s shoulder before he too could speed out. “Hey, do you want to hang out after school? We could go window-shop the comic store like you were talking about.”

“Ah, sorry dude,” Wally replied, rubbing his neck with a wince. “That would be _awesome_ , but I got track practice all week. We have a meet coming up and the team is counting on me and all…”

Bruce kept his eyes respectfully down at the papers on his desk, but he could practically feel the boy’s hope drop even as he heard him reply.

“Yeah, it’s cool. I got homework anyways.”

As the door closed one more time, Bruce looked up to see Dick rustling through his bag, looking for nothing.  He knew the kid was waiting for another afternoon of detective stories and small talk, but he had already wasted enough time. He needed to _work_. 

Yet, Dick had stopped fidgeting and was looking at him with those big blue eyes. Well, just a few minutes more wouldn’t make much of a difference, anyhow.

“So, today’s the day you catch up on your homework?” He asked, leaning back in his desk chair.

Dick’s grinned, but it was tired, more forced from this morning. “I’m full of surprises.”

Bruce just shook his head. “I bet I’m full of more.” He crooked his finger to come closer, holding the manila folder up in the other hand, and Dick eagerly jumped up. 

He had gotten into the habit of showing Dick case files a few months ago when the boy had read some of his notes left open on the desk.  He had meant it as a learning exercise as the boy seemed curious, and Dick had taken to it like a fish to water. On occasion, he even brought points that Bruce hadn’t considered or made a connection far faster than Bruce would have expected of a mere child. 

Of course, he always made sure to sensor them of any gory pictures. But, even when he left in the grittier details Dick never flinched away.  In a way, Dick was like him, yearning for a challenge. Bruce knew he probably should be spending the time reprimanding the boy for skipping his homework, but he simply couldn’t deny a gifted mind looking to work.

He gently set the folder in the boy’s thin fingers, watching him nimbly work the latch to open the file, pulling the three papers out with restrained excitement.

“What the hell?” Dick whispered as he looked at the same pages that Bruce had found slipped under his door upon returning home from another case Sunday night. The same pages that had been bothering him all day. The pages Bruce suspected could be the beginning of his greatest case yet.

The pages themselves were generic printer paper with the first page completely blank except for a fuzzy picture of a seated crowd dressed in formal clothing and staring into the camera lens, entranced expressions peering into the eyes of the viewer.  Dick turned to the next page, his brows furrowed in concentration. The second page was a letter of sorts, typed up as to hide any clue in handwriting. It read simply as follows:

_You are being watched. Do not make the same mistake they did. If you are truly the detective you say you are, solve the puzzle left behind. Only then can I tell you the truth.  Your legacy lies in blood and stone._

_-A Friend_

Dick’s brows furrowed as he shifted to the third and final page.  The last page in his hand was filled front and back, edge to edge with gibberish code. Numbers, letters, and symbols filled every inch of the space like a lawn of code. 

“There weren’t any prints on anything were there?” Dick asked, his voice soft and already suspecting Bruce’s answer.

“No. No name or any indication as to who left it at my door.  The letter indicates someone who knows me personally, and the way they talk about legacy as if…” _As if he had one at all_ , Bruce thought to himself.  He had no legacy. No significant history, no wealth, no family to speak of. The possibility that he had received the package entirely by mistake hadn’t been ruled out.

“Well,” Dick said looking deeply at the lines of code as if willing them to spill their secrets, “They also mentioned you being watched. Have you noticed anything like that?”

Bruce shook his head.  He prided himself on his skills of perception above all else. If there was someone out there watching him without him knowing it, they would have to be incredibly skilled to keep it up for a long period of time. Impossible for them to keep it up without him picking up their trail eventually.  Now that he was on to them, if an anonymous follower indeed existed, he would find them.

Dick hummed in thought as he moved to pick up the picture again.  Bruce shifted forward, resting his chin on folded hands, watching the boy think.  “This looks like its old, maybe twenty, thirty years old? These clothes they’re wearing,” he said thumbing the picture, bright eyes looking to Bruce, “Its way outdated. But, I think I’ve seen it before. In pictures of…” Suddenly, Dick stopped, lips parted mid-sentence. He swallowed slowly, licking his lips before forcing the rest of the words out of his mouth.  “Of my parents’ performances. The rich audience members wore clothes like these. Maybe…this photo was taken by a performer in a show of some sort.”

“Perhaps. That would be a probable explanation.”

“It’s too bad the quality is so, bad. Who knows what details could be hiding in the shadows with the resolution this poor.”

“What indeed,” Bruce murmured, leaning to look over Dick’s shoulder as they both stared, fixated by the mystery laid before them.

“Hey, Mr. Wayne?” Dick turned to ask. “Can I have a copy of the code? I want to try to solve it.”

Another teacher might have laughed in the scrawny kid’s face. Even Bruce could admit to himself that the code would be a challenge to solve, and here was a boy less than half his age wanting to try to crack it.  But, Bruce wasn’t going to deny him.  Who knows? Perhaps he would find something in the jumbled mess. “I’ll go make you a copy.”

“Thank you, sir.”

As Bruce moved down the hall to take the paper to the copy machine in the break room, an inkling of a smile flicker graced his lips. Full of surprises indeed.  The hum of the machine made soothing background music as Bruce let him reflect on how much an interesting child had come into his life.  He almost didn’t notice another person come into the room.

“Bruce, I was just about to look for you in your room,” John Jones said monotonously, walking towards him. Bruce quickly picked up the copied code and hid it behind his back. 

“Yes, what is it, John?” John had always struck him as a perplexing character, someone who never seemed to be comfortable around others. His speech a little too formal, his posture a little too stiff, his fashion sense not ever quite coordinated. Even now he wore a pea green sweater with salmon colored pants, an eye sore if you thought about it too much.  Like a Martian among Earthlings.  However, Bruce appreciated John’s objectivity.  It made him good at his job answering calls from temperamental parents and organizing massive amounts of files.  John was one of the more tolerable staff members at Justice.

“I received a call from a Mr. Rubino looking for Richard Grayson. He said Richard was scheduled to be home an hour ago.”

“Dick’s in my room, I’ll let him know. Thank you, John.”

“Of course,” John said with a curt nod. “And, a happy anniversary to you, Bruce.”

When Bruce got back, he found Dick balanced on the desk, looking at the mysterious photo like it was an alien artifact. 

“Dick,” Bruce said, reaching out the copied paper although he wasn’t paying attention. The boy jerked and practically fell off the desk at the sound of his voice before recovering and taking the paper.  “Mr. Jones got a call from a Mr. Rubino looking for you.”

“What? Why would…” Dick’s brows came together as he racked his brain. Then, something must have occurred to him because his eyes suddenly flew open and his expression morphed from confusion to terror.  “Oh _shit_. I-I have to go. Thank you, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce watched Dick leap off the desk as if it was caught on fire and scramble out the door, the encoded paper clutched tightly in his hand.  He only shook his head as he watched him go. Kids. Now there was one puzzle he was glad he didn’t have to solve.

Finally, he put the three papers back into their neat manila folder and packed his briefcase for the night.  He had stayed far longer than he intended and missed the bus. It would be nearly half an hour until the next one.  Observing the room for one last time, he nodded with finality and locked the door behind him. 

There was a lurking weariness in his muscles, but Bruce knew he wouldn’t be sleeping tonight.  He had work to do. Someone out there had laid the pieces for another puzzle, another game.  He almost laughed. To challenge him in his city, in his _home_. That was bold indeed. _Alright then, stranger_ , Bruce mused as the thrill of the chase was relit in his eyes, _let’s play_.


	2. Monday Night Hype

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! Thank you for reading and especially for your wonderful reviews. I know this story is a little off cannon, so I'd love to hear your thoughts. Thank you again, and enjoy the next chapter!

The quick-paced slapping of Dick’s sneakers on the concrete echoed out as he ran the near two miles from Justice High to his house. Or, more correctly, Martin Rubino’s house. It certainly wasn’t home, and Dick refused to call it such. 

When Dick skidded to a halt in front of the dingy grey house on Sunrise Boulevard, he was doubled over and panting from effort.  He licked his lips as he nervously eyed the two black pick-up trucks in the driveway. Both were splattered with mud that obscured the license-plates. It wasn’t by accident. He quickly shoved the precious paper Bruce had given him into his backpack and, with a steeling breathe, forced himself to walk into the house. 

Inside, multiple voices were murmuring, and he immediately picked out the deep, gravely, and perpetually-irritated voice of his guardian.  With some effort, he forced himself to close the door with a soft click despite a voice in his gut telling him to throw it open and bolt.

“That you, boy?” Martin called from the kitchen, followed by the scraping of worn chairs.

He swallowed, “Yes, sir.”

“Finally.  What, did you decide to take a lil’ stroll today? Take a snooze in the art closet?” Footsteps drew louder until the full visage of Martin Rubino was in the doorway. His oily black hair slicked back, striped collared shirt just a tad too tight around a growing beer belly, and sharp blue eyes immediately finding his. “Did you really not remember today’s the day we’re pulling _the job_?”

“I’m sorry, sir.” Dick looked into the man’s eyes as he spoke. He wouldn’t put his head down like a dog. He _wouldn’t_.  

Marin grumbled and rolled his eyes that were far too similar to Dick’s own for his liking. Grasping his upper arm tightly, the man pulled him towards the kitchen. “Come ‘ere, I’m not having you make us any later than we already are.  But, we’re not done with this.”

In the kitchen, three other men were seated at the worn wooden table and six eyes narrowed as he was brought into the room. Unfortunately, he had met all of them before.  The muscular man in flannel swirling a beer bottle was Raymond, and the tall blonde one with a pencil mustache was Donny.  Then there was his least favorite, the twitchy one who always smelled rank, only referred to as Sticky.  

“All right, boyos,” Martin said, roughly pushing Dick forward.  “Everyone’s here. You all remember your jobs?” He had asked the question to the group, but the man was looking directly at Dick.

“Yes, sir,” he whispered. Inside, his mind flashed to his time with Bruce only a short while ago. What he wouldn’t give for ten more minutes with a case file in his hand and Bruce looking at him with that almost-smile thing of his.

“If anyone’s gonna screw up, it’s gonna be Sticky,” Donny scoffed. “The kid’s done it enough times, he could pro’ly do this in his sleep.”  Looking at his feet, Dick tried to ignore the way his words made his stomach wrench.

Martin rolled his eyes, “Let’s get moving.”

A few moments later the group had moved to the two trucks with Sticky and Raymond in one and Martin behind the wheel of the other, Donny and Dick squished tightly together into the one long seat.  Dick supposed he should be glad he wasn’t riding with Sticky again, but he still couldn’t help but feel slightly nauseous. It happened before every job, so much so that the sick feeling in his gut was just as much part of the routine.  It never had gotten easier.  He didn’t want to be here, he didn’t want to be doing this.  The cocktail of fear, shame, and anxiety for what he was about to do, however, wouldn’t be enough to stop him from going through with it anyways.  He knew he didn’t have a choice. 

As they drove, Donny’s ‘hype mix’ played over the radio, quick-paced and cocky, and the taller man bobbed along to the rhythm. 

“ _Dick_ ,” Martin said, breaking the silence.  Dick inwardly cringed. He hated the way Martin could make his name sound like an insult…well, more than it already was. “How long have you been doin’ jobs?”

He bit the inside of his lips, feeling a lecture coming on. “F-four years.”  Since the first year he had moved in with Martin. Four long years… if only his parents could see him now.

“Four years, _what_?”

“Four years, sir.”

“That’s right. So, then I would think you would know enough not to make me have to call the school looking for you.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“Don’t let it happen again.”

“Yes, sir.”  A loud snort broke the tension and nearly caused Dick to jump out of his seat. Donny shook his head with mild amusement.

“Sometimes, I still can’t believe you would get a kid.” Martin let out an exasperated breath.

“Well, you sure as hell ain’t passing as my son any time soon, Don.  It was just my luck they had a bugger that looked like me when it was convenient. Practically my spittin’ image.” Dick shuddered at the thought.  “Besides,” Martin continued, “Dickie here’s quiet an’ knows how to listen to his betters.  He just needs _reminders_ sometimes. But, the paycheck is ridiculous. They’re pretty much giving these kids away, got too many of ‘em I guess.  Gotham’s fucked up like that.”

Donny scoffed and shook his head. “Whatever you say, boss.” Dick clasped his hands together tighter as they talked about him like he wasn’t even there. Martin had always been clear that he was there for a purpose, and he supposed it was better than the man trying to be a father.  Dick spent the duration of the trip imagining the bottom of the car would fall away and drop him on the street. 

Finally, the truck slipped into a parking space, the light of Walter’s Electronic Wares’ sign casting dim light in the early evening.  Martin turned to lock eyes with Dick. “Show time, boy.” The ‘ _don’t ruin this_ ’ was implied.

The ding of the bell caused Walter to stand up from his place behind the register, moving a little too fast and causing his back to make a loud pop.

Wincing, the older man still managed a smile at the father and son coming in, “Hello there, welcome. Let me know if I can help you find anything.”  The man smiled back, and the boy muttered something too soft for his aging ears to catch.

Dick quickly surveyed the store.  He had been in here before, pretending to look at videogames and trying to remember which ones Wally had talked about, but in reality scoping the place out.  The old man was the only one who worked Monday nights because the store was usually empty. Tonight, however, Dick quickly picked out Raymond by the higher end computers and Sticky running his hands along a large flatscreen on the opposite end of the store.

“Actually,” Martin piped up politely, “could you help me? I’ve been meaning to replace my phone and could use a recommendation.”

“Certainly, certainly.” Said the old man, shuffling around.

Martin bent down to look Dick in the eye with a knowing look.  “Why don’t you go look at the movies, son?”  Dick nodded and muttered a small hello as he passed the store owner and walked towards the front desk. 

There was a small pile of recently released discs on the counter, a small wall with the movies and card reader on one side and the register and main computer on the other.  But, the feature films weren’t the movies he was here for.  Dick quickly glanced over his shoulder to see the older man’s back turned and frame huddled over a display.  Martin looked over his shoulder to give Dick a nod.

With a push, Dick vaulted over the counter and, after a moment of rummaging through the lower cabinet, found a key ring tucked in the back, a piece of tape across one of them labeled ‘alarm.’  Next, he moved to the computer and slipped the small USB from his pocket into the port.  In a second, the virus on it was uploaded and the login screen flashed as the program worked, searching through the hard drive to find any stored passwords.  The screen flashed once, twice, three times with three different combinations before the words ‘access granted’ appeared.

Dick looked up quickly to make sure the shopkeeper was still occupied before his fingers flew over the keys, looking for the program for the security camera. 

‘Would you like to eject disc: SECURITY FOOTAGE – SEPT ?’ [Y/N]

Dick jammed the ‘y’ key and the computer beside him spit out the shiny disc. Next, he went into the terminal and deleted the program all together.  Without anywhere to save the captured data the security cameras would still be powered on and working but essentially useless.

Reaching in front to grab one of the sealed movies, he slid his fingernail along the seal, quickly tossing the plastic before popping open the case. With a thin smile, he took out the disc to ‘Now You See Me’ and placed it where the security disc had been moments later.

He clicked the security disc into the case and tucked the movie under his arm, vaulting back over the counter to approach Martin again.

“Did you find a movie you liked?” Martin asked, interrupting the man’s long winded speech about the differences between iPhones and androids.

Dick nodded, flashing a grin that couldn’t have been falser.  “Yep!” He held up the unsealed movie.

“You unwrapped it?” Marin gasped with equally fake surprise, “Anthony, you know you can’t do that.”  He added a wagging finger for extra measure as if he was in a cheap film.  Dick gave a sheepish grin -- it was easy to fake a smile when he was acting.  Performing had always been something he was good at.

“I know, but I _really_ wanted it and now you have to get it.” Martin shook his head as a good natured father might.

Turning to the older man, he spoke with a sigh and an apologetic smile.  “I’m sorry for the trouble, sir. I’ll pay for it.”

The old man chuckled but Dick knew it was a one sided joke, “Oh, it’s all right. I’ve had a few kids of my own. Do you want the phone? Or, I can tell you about some of our other products...”

“ _No_ , no, I think just the movie will be fine for today.”

They weren’t halfway to the counter when the alarm started to blare out, security lights flashing overhead.

“I’m sorry!” Sticky called from the other end of the store, throwing his hands in the air. “I jus’ wanted to look at the back an’ it started goin’ off!”

The old man sighed. “One second, sir.” He said to Martin before calling the Sticky, “They’re sensitive like that.  Let me just grab the key and I’ll be over.” Dick watched with guilt as the old man riffled through the cabinet for the keys that were currently sitting in his pocket. “They should be right here…”

“H-hold on, folks. I must have left them in the back room. I’m sorry about the noise,” the old man said embarrassed, trying to speak over the continued blaring.  The man hadn’t even made it before Martin had his phone to his ear.

“We’re clear, Don. Bring ‘er around.”

As the backroom doors clicked shut, the three men immediately sprang into action.  Sticky had two TV’s under each arm and was running them as fast as he could to the black truck pulled directly in front of the doors. Donny was already bringing around the second car while Raymond stacked a third computer on top of his pile before he too started sprinting.

Dick ran over to his assigned place by the break room door, keeping one eye on the slit in the door to see the older man nervously tearing the break-room office apart, the other watching as the three men scrambled.

It was about seven minutes before the old man stood up from the desk, red-faced and clearly upset.  Turning on his heel, Dick sprinted to the front door.  “Friday!” He yelled, causing the three men to look up from the aisles like gophers.

“Let’s go!” Martin called out, echoing Dick’s signal. 

Raymond dropped the computer he was holding, but Sticky grabbed a handful of movies before they both made a break for the trucks.  Four car doors slammed shut, and Dick scrambled into the back of one of the trucks, yanking the tarp over the piles of boxes and tying it down before moving to do the same to the other. 

“Get back here you thieves!” The voice of the old man screamed over the continued wail of the alarm.

The truck lurched in response, almost knocking him over the side.  He quickly crouched low and tied the tarp over himself.  In the dark, his own breath sounded even louder. The beating of his heart keeping time with the rumbling of the tires.

Four years… The thought echoed softly in his head.  Four years since his parents had died. Four years since he had touched a trapeze. Four years of being a criminal.  Dick sighed as he shifted and drew his knees to his chin, hugging himself tightly.  In his daydreams, he imagined himself running back to the circus.  The fire breather would have some new story to share, the bearded lady would have warm food to share along with her secret stash of sweet cakes, and Pop Haly would ask him what took him so long. Dick bit his lip as he felt his throat tighten.  Losing his parents had been horrible, but losing the circus too… Most days it tugged at his heart too hard to think about for long. So, why couldn’t he just let the line of thought go?

Truck made a hard turn and one of the boxes smashed into his side, forcing out a yelp.  He shoved the box away and held his side for a moment, trying to breathe through the sharp sting, before he realized that the car was stopped.

With a rush of air, the tarp was yanked away, forcing Dick to turn away and shield his eyes from the sudden bright light.  When he opened his eyes, Sticky’s wide, toothy grin looked down on him.  “Up and at ’em, princess. Your carriage ride is over.”

In the driveway, Martin tossed his keys to Donny while Raymond and Sticky inspected their haul, Raymond twirling the other set absently from one finger.

“There’s got to be ten thousand here, at least,” Raymond commented. Sticky chuckled and lovingly caressed one of the boxes.

“You’re going to make daddy _a lot_ of money.”

Martin nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Alright, you two get these to the warehouse. We’ll appraise it later in the week. You know the drill, keep your heads down.”

The men nodded and started to load up once again, but not before Sticky’s long fingers clasped Dick’s shoulder from behind, the other hand roughly ruffling his hair.  Dick felt his back lock up and teeth grit, knowing that moving away would only make them mad. “See you next time, pretty boy,” Sticky whispered, his hot and foul breath wafting over Dick’s cheek.  As the trucks drove away, he forced his hair flat again and tried to rub away the disgusting feeling on his face. 

“You got the disc?” Martin asked once they were back in the house.  Obediently, Dick pulled the movie case from his waistband and handed it over.  “Good boy,” the man praised, holding the CD up to the light.

Slowly, Dick moved to go upstairs but was stopped by a tight hand on his shoulder.  “Where do you think you’re going?” Dick swallowed. He knew that tone in Martin’s voice.

“Upstairs. I have homework.” He really did have homework to do.  Marin forced him to turn around and look him in the eye.

“Homework is it? So, if you weren’t doing homework up at school, why was it you were late when I’ve told you _repeatedly_ that today we were doing the job?”

“I-I just forgot.” Dick resisted the urge to pull his shoulder away as Martin’s grip tightened.

“You just _forgot_ ,” Martin nodded, pretending to consider it. “Tell me Dick, are you stupid?”

Dick looked into Martin’s eyes. He knew it didn’t matter what he said next. “Yes, sir.” In an instant, the hand that had been on his shoulder snapped across his cheek. 

“Don’t lie to me. They wouldn’t’ve made me move you up two grades if you were stupid. Are you going to tell me why you were late or am I just going to have to beat you twice as hard?”

“I was just with a friend and lost track of time,” Dick said, sure to keep his voice steady, resisting the temptation to hold his burning cheek.

“What’s their name?” Marin’s eyes narrowed.  He was trying to catch him in a lie.

“Wally West.” Inwardly, Dick wished he could have spent the day with the hyperactive redhead, but Wally had been busy for weeks between school and practice.  Always promising the next week he would have more time.

The man looked Dick up and down, looking for any slip in the explanation.  “Don’t make me have to come find you again, or I guarantee that this is going to look downright pleasant compared to what I’ll do to you.  And, if I _ever_ catch you lying to me,” Martin snarled, pushing his face closer until they were nose to nose. “You better hope there is a god in the sky because he will be the _only_ one to help you. Then, when I’m done with you, I promise you’ll be back in that detention center so fast the whiplash will make your scrawny little neck _snap_.”

Dick felt his head nod. Unbidden, the memory of dirty halls, vicious children, and strict discipline that still woke him in cold sweats flashed through his mind. He wouldn’t ever go back, he was certain of that. Then again, was it really worse than here? Anywhere, _anything_ had to be better than this.

“I’m glad we understand each other.”

“Now…” The hiss of Martin’s belt slipping out of his pant loops echoed through his head, louder than reality, but still painfully familiar.  A chill ran down his spine.  Dick pulled his gaze away and closed his eyes.  His hands clenched uselessly into fists at his side. If only he had it in him to try an escape again. But, the memory from three months ago was still too fresh, and Dick knew he didn’t. Martin’s hand pushed against his shoulder until Dick felt the wall against his back.

“Let’s see if we can’t do something about this forgetfulness of yours.”

~             ~             ~

Tuesday morning found Dick at Justice High far earlier than usual, which was saying something.  He was tucked on the stiff wooden bench outside the pool with an open book on his lap.  He had told himself he was going to use the time to catch up on homework. Instead, the coded paper lay on top of the book while Dick tapped his pencil to it, occasionally scrawling down notes as he thought.

Truthfully, after last night, he hadn’t been able to sleep. Or, more accurate, he hadn’t been able to get _back_ to sleep after he had come to his senses on the kitchen floor at four thirty in the morning.  He hadn’t wanted to spend another minute in the house and risk running into Martin again. Instead, he opted to watch the swim team’s practice. The steady motion of swimmers going back and forth across the lanes over and over again was relaxing in a way. Anything to take his mind off the hot throbbing of the fresh red welts under his sweatshirt. For the better part of two hours, he split his attention between the pool, the book, and the code, not paying much attention to any one of them, until a voice pulled him out of his haze.

“Hello, friend.” Dick looked up to see Kaldur Hyde standing over him, an easy smile on his lips and a towel around his shoulders. This wasn’t the first time Dick had come in earlier than the swim team, and one day Kaldur had made a point to introduce himself. They had never become close friends or met outside of school, but Dick liked the boy’s calm and collected attitude and the older boy always made a point to say hello.

“Morning Kal.” he greeted, flashing a grin.

“May I ask what you are working on so early in the morning?” Kaldur asked with a nod to the messy paper of scrambled letters and scribbled notes.  Looking down, Dick realized he probably should have hid the paper, but couldn’t feel anxious about it. He trusted Kaldur.

“It’s just a puzzle I found on the internet.”

Kaldur hummed in response, rubbing his chin and staring at it intently. “It looks very complex. Good luck, Dick.”

From behind the two, the door to the pool opened again and out came the rest of the swim team and Mr. Curry with his blonde locks still damp, patting a towel to his head and wishing his team a good day.  Kaldur returned the greeting respectfully.

“You know,” Dick started. “I’ve never really met Mr. Curry, but he seems like a cool guy.”

“I am very fond of him. He has been a wonderful mentor in both my academics and extracurricular activities since I moved to Gotham.  I respect his opinions greatly.”  Kaldur then added, “If you wished to join in our practices one day, I am certain you would be welcome to join.”

Dick only smiled, “Yeah. Maybe someday.”  He knew it would never happen.

Kaldur nodded absently, seeming to pick up on the lie.  “I must get going to prepare for classes; however, it is good speaking with you.” Softly, Kaldur dropped a friendly hand on Dick’s shoulder. However, as he did, the taller boy’s fingertips accidently pressed into the crest of a particularly angry welt that striped from his left shoulder to the small of his back.

A yelp slipped out before he could stop it as the low ache suddenly flared into a sharp burn.  His body involuntarily tensed, jerking away from the touch.

Kaldur immediately pulled his hand back.  “I-I am sorry. I didn’t mean to harm you. Are you injured?”

Dick forced a smile, “No, no I’m fine. You didn’t do anything, Kal. It’s just a bruise from where I fell out of bed this morning. No big deal.” He mentally scolded himself for reacting so harshly and forced his breathing to stay even and his face relaxed.

Kaldur, however, didn’t seemed convinced but reluctantly conceded.  “If you insist. I must get ready for class, but please get some ice for your shoulder.”

“Sure thing, Kal. See you later.” Dick nodded, waving as Kaldur left. _Come on, Grayson_ , he told himself, _we got a whole day ahead of ourselves_.  But, after a few minutes of controlled breathing, the still throbbing refused to settle down. _Maybe I could tell the nurse I have a headache and get some painkillers before class._ With the thought in mind he quickly began packing his bag. Overhead the first bell rang out shrilly.  _Or, not._  

He sighed as he stood and hoisted the backpack up, ignoring the way his head swam and the bag pressed on his back in all the wrong ways.  _You can do this, Grayson.  It’s only Tuesday._


	3. Spotlight Madness

Monday night found Bruce back at his apartment, a stack of books piled high on his desk and papers spread before him.  He let out a sigh and stood up, stretching his stiff back. 

From a distance, the yellow light over the crowded desk made the dark apartment looks all the more sullen.  It didn’t bother Bruce, but the apartment could get rather depressing.  The building was cheap, the peeling wallpaper looked like a bad motel, the floorboards creaked, and somewhere in the complex walls was a family of mice.  The doors were flimsy, the walls thin enough to hold a conversation from both sides, and hot water was only an option at two in the afternoon.  On top of this, Bruce tended to avoid turning on the lights to save on the electricity bill, often leaving only the desk lamp.  He called it ‘the Cave.’

However, the best part of the place (if not the only good thing about it) was the view.  There was one drab window on the far wall that looked over Gotham Harbor, the city spread beneath the windowsill.  The sight was spectacular, especially at night.  Lights twinkling and the smog rising slowly into the cold air.  Below him the sounds of the city bubbled with sound and color, proof the people of Gotham were full of life.  It felt like home.  In every sense a shithole, but Bruce had always felt like he belong here in Gotham and nowhere else. 

Pushing down his feelings of misplaced nostalgia, Bruce tugged the curtains closed. He couldn’t afford to spend the night daydreaming.  Bruce forced himself to sit back down in the stiff wooden chair.  Once again he read over the letter from ‘a friend.’

If this ‘friend’ was to be trusted, the opening line was clear enough – he was being watch. But, the letter gave no indication as to _why_. Why would anyone care to watch him teach science during the day and read all night? Certainly, he had made enemies while working as a detective. But, few of them had the time to tail him at all hours while being locked in a prison and none had the patience to not simply make an attempt on his life. 

Then, there was the whole ‘do not make the same mistake they did.’  His first thought was of his parents. It would tie in with the last line, ‘legacy lies in blood and stone.’ But, what mistake did they ever make? Listening to their coward son? Walking out the wrong door of a theatre? It didn’t line up. His parents were no body; he had no legacy. No money, no property, no fame.

What Bruce decided would make more sense was not his personal legacy (or lack thereof) but perhaps his legacy to the city.  The mistakes being the mistakes of past policemen and detectives.  The legacy of being the best detective anyone has ever seen. Some criminal master mind who thought they could evade every arm of the law.  Someone new who thought they had the power to scare anyone who tried to bring them to justice. 

Perhaps he had accidently stumbled onto their territory in one of his cases around the city.  Seen something that he had yet to realize held bigger meaning. But, what? He had racked his brain for hours and couldn’t say for sure.  What he needed to do was meet this ‘friend’ and get some real answer. He had to solve the puzzle.  But, that puzzle was _madness_.

Despite every one of his attempts, he couldn’t get the code to budge even an inch. Every trail, every usual strategy of his ended up in nonsense. There was no pattern. Well, Bruce corrected himself, there had to be a pattern in there. (Unless, this all was meant to distract him from seeing a larger play at hand, but he pushed the thought away. There was something here. He knew there was.) Wherever the pattern was, he had yet to find it.  So much for world’s greatest detective.  It was exhilarating and frustrating all at once, but Bruce was far from done. Maybe he just needed a little more coffee to refocus.

Getting up from the desk, Bruce was reconfronted with the mess he had made of ‘the Cave’.  The neat piles on his desk had turned into an explosion of disjointed papers and loose ideas hours ago.  One wall had been covered end to end with pictures, notes, and locations of every known criminal still at large who could possibly have the resources and motives to tail him. Not to mention the intellect needed to put together such a monstrosity of a code.

Copies of each one their police reports in addition to any of Bruce’s own research lay in neat piles across the floor. Three names stood out in particular.  The first was Sandra Wu-San, a shadow in the Gotham underground, always a little too close for comfort. She had been identified before in association with few crime scenes – gristly murders with no apparent motive – but the fingers never pointed her way and she was always let go. Bruce had a feeling she had a lot more power and knowhow than she let on. With her day job as an unassuming martial arts instructor, she would have more than enough time to watch his every move.

Then, there was a gangster by the name of Tony Zucco. He had moved to Gotham about four years ago and quickly climbed the ranks. It was still unclear what is role was in the intricate crime web of Gotham, but Zucco had been spotted at the locations and with the people to prove that he was a force to be reckoned with.  Even if Zucco himself didn’t have the knowledge to make the puzzle, he certainly had the connections to find someone who could.  _A gangster with an agenda, how original_ , Bruce mused humorlessly.

The last suspect on his list was one Philip Reardon. The man was a war veteran, and currently worked as a security guard.  They had met on a previous case when he was investigating a cat burglar at the jewel shop Reardon had been temporarily working.  The man had struck Bruce as interesting first for his physical appearance, he wore dark sunglasses and had a deep indentation scar on the middle of his forehead like a third eye. But, more importantly, it was his strange behavior that caused Bruce to delve deeper.  The entire time Bruce was interviewing him, Reardon kept making a point to touch his arm, his note pad. Smiling widely the whole time.

Bruce had been in the middle of asking Reardon the basics when Reardon’s supervisor had come up and whispered something in his ear, making Bruce turn incredulously to the smiling security guard.

“You’re blind? Why didn’t you tell me? You’ve been answering my questions for the past twenty minutes.  I can’t trust these responses,” Bruce had growled with frustration.

Reardon just chuckled. “Oh, you’d be surprised at what I can see, _Bruce_.”

The way Reardon had said his name… like he _knew_ something. About himself of all things. Bruce had never forgotten it.  When he caught the thief a day later, Reardon had been exactly right.  Reardon’s pile of papers was by far the smallest. As far as he could tell, Philip Reardon was a nobody.  And that was a problem.

Bruce forced his tired eyes away from the destroyed wall. Coffee. He just needed some coffee. The last of the cold black sludge slipped into his new, World’s #1 Stoic mug. _Oh Dinah.  You are hilarious._ As Bruce reached down for the mug of sad coffee, he realized for the first time that he had never changed out of his work clothes. Well, there was time for that later. It was only…

He squinted at the green digital clock on the coffee machine. Five am? No, that couldn’t be right. Bruce looked for confirmation from the far window, only to spot thin streaks of sunlight worming their way into his Cave. Slowly walking forward, Bruce braced himself and threw open the curtains.

A growl escaped his throat, and he threw up his arm to shield his eyes. That’s when he saw it. A shadow across the outside barrier. Not his neighbor’s balcony or some pigeon – a _person_.  Wasting no time, Bruce threw up the window and careened his head to look upwards.  There was nothing there.

“ _Dammit_.”

He had seen something there. Someone had been there. Squinting, Bruce scrutinized the area outside of his window for any sign of an intruder. The only thing that he could find was some odd scratches above his head. However, how long they had been there was impossible to tell.  He ducked back into the apartment and shuffled some papers around until he found his camera. He snapped the picture and then, on a sticky note, he scrawled the shape and dimensions of the mark.  There was a chance the mark was old or from something completely irrelevant to him. But, as long as there was a slimmer of a chance of the mark being this strange watchmen, he would figure it out.  

With the camera in his hand, Bruce let his tired slip shut. Someone else might be able to convince themselves they were too tired to see clearly or it had been a trick of light, but he knew better. Someone was watching him, whoever had written the letter was right. 

From his desk, a monotonous beeping started, signaling him to start getting ready for work.  Despite the transformation of his apartment into a living investigation, Bruce didn’t feel as though he had accomplished nearly as much as he wanted to. And now, with this watchman, things felt even more blurred than before.  But, he could try again tonight. First, he had a class to teach.

One fresh pot of coffee, one new shirt, eight bus stops, and two blocks later Bruce walked through the doors of Justice High, his morning a dull blur.  He was used to working on no sleep.  It was practically required for him to do both jobs well. However, that didn’t mean he particularly enjoyed it.

Bruce’s hand paused, hovering above the brass doorknob to his room. Something was missing. He looked down at his briefcase but was certain he had brought all of his papers. Then, his mind sparked. Dick wasn’t outside his door.

It was definitely strange – the boy had been there like regular clockwork for weeks on end, killing time and waiting for Bruce to get to his room. Then again, it was probably best if the boy spent his mornings with his friends or catching up. A small part of his mind wondered if the boy was alright, but Bruce quickly pushed the feeling down, he had to concentrate. Dick was probably fine.

Bruce’s Tuesday morning passed slowly and without event.  He was lucky the lesson for the day had the students working on their own, as he didn’t really think he could give his full attention to teaching today. So, by the time lunch hour came, Bruce was more than ready for a moment alone.  He unpacked his meager lunchbox – a tuna sandwich, apple, and can of soup as per usual – and had his sandwich to his lips when his door creaked open.

“Dick?” Bruce asked aloud. It wasn’t unlike the boy to come in during the lunch hour. Bruce was about to ask him where he had been this morning, when a young girl stepped in. Her bright green eyes filled with worry found him immediately. Megan, he quickly recalled.

“Mr. Wayne? I – I think you should come see something.”

Bruce let his face fall back to impassiveness. He really wasn’t in the mood to deal with teenage antics. “Can it wait until class has begun? If it’s something important I’m sure someone else can…”

“No!” Megan interrupted. The forcefulness in her voice surprised him. She shook her head, as if forcing herself to continue. When she met his eyes, she looked determined. “Mr. Wayne, I need you to come now. It’s important.”

“What is so important that you can’t get someone else?”

“It’s about Dick.”

Bruce stood up. “Where?”

~             ~             ~

 

Megan had hoped moving to a new place, starting a new school would help her condition. But, so far, things had only gotten worse.  The soft whispering of voices that weren’t her own.

They talked to her about the people around her. Told her things she didn’t want to know. Things she knew she wasn’t _supposed_ to know.  She had always been like this, ever since she was young. She had long since learned not to repeat the things the voices said. But, it was hard. Especially when she just wanted to help.

This was the third time her parents had been forced to move, this time hoping to get lost in the anonymity of Gotham City. Megan knew they were counting on her to keep it under control this time.

However, it had started again in yesterday’s Chemistry class.  The voice told her the teacher, Mr. Wayne, was thinking about something complex, strange, and a little frightening. It said that the loud, smiling redheaded boy was in love with her. It said that the soft spoken boy with bright blue eyes behind her was going to get hurt that night.  

Megan had tried, really tried, to ignore it. She had gone home and practically collapsed after school, mentally exhausted. A hundred pieces of information about her new and unsuspecting peers. She had laid in her bed that night, the voice repeating her parents’ concerned conversation downstairs about her first day, wondering for the hundred millionth time if it would ever go away. A part of her wished she could let it go and embrace the powers, but it scared her too much and got her into trouble too often for her to be ok with being a _freak_.

Today had been no different. Before school had even begun, she had been drawn through the lunchroom of meandering students and outside to where a boy sitting alone on the bench, muscular arms draped across the back as he stared into space. The bench was tucked against the back of the building, right outside the door for food delivery trucks.  It was the same place the lunch ladies used to take their smoke break.

As Megan approached the boy, his sharp blue eyes looked up at her in alarm. The voice told her no one had ever found his hiding spot before.

“Um, hi,” she said with a small wave. “I’m Megan.” His glare seemed to deepen.

“Why are you here?”

“I…I thought you could use some company.” It was as close as she could get to saying a voice in her head said they should be friends.

“Don’t you have someone to bother inside?”

“Actually, I don’t.”  The boy groaned as he seemed to think it over, eyes continuing to scrutinize her. She tried not to fidget.

Finally, he scooted to one side, turning his face away as if he couldn’t admit to doing something nice for a strange girl. Megan couldn’t help a small smile as she sat down next to him.

“I…I’m Connor.” He said slowly. 

When lunch came around, Megan brought her tray over to find Connor at his seat alone in the corner of the dining all.  He had silently made room for her, and she had filled the silence with mindless chatter.  She told him about where she had used to live, a nice beach town in California by the mountains, she talked about the shows she liked, a funny squirrel she had seen on her way to school. Connor didn’t say anything, just nodded every so often, but the voice said that he liked listening to her talk so she kept at it.

That is, until her eye caught the back of a small grey sweatshirt slipping past the lunch tables and into the halls. Suddenly the voice that most often like a quiet whisper grabbed her mind with such ferocity she almost fell out of her seat. It forced her attention to the disappearing figure she recognized as the boy from chemistry. A sudden image of Mr. Wayne over the boy’s limp body flashed in front of her eyes with blinding intensity.

Megan bolted to her feet, causing Connor to look up with confusion.

“What are you doing?”

“I have to get Mr. Wayne now.”

“What? Why?”

For a moment, Megan faltered. Why did she need to? What if she was wrong? She couldn’t explain it, she didn’t understand. But Mr. Wayne was needed. A feeling this strong had to be important. That kid… what was his name again?

_Dick Grayson._ The name appeared in the forefront of her mind out of nowhere.

Megan shook her head as she grabbed her bag and started to run down the hall.  When she got to Mr. Wayne’s door, however, she felt the confidence from earlier leave her. What if she ended up revealing herself again? What if everyone found out? What if –

No, Megan forced herself to stop. She had to help Dick first. That was more important. Slowly, she opened the door to his office.

“Dick?”

 

Megan opened Mr. Wayne’s door with the large man right on her heels. To her surprise, she saw Connor waiting right outside.

“You’re fast,” he said flatly.

“Where is he?” Mr. Wayne said tensely.

“Um…” Megan paused. _Uhhh.._. “He’s…” _The backdoor, by the bathrooms._ “By the backdoor, the one near the bathrooms.”

The three took off down the hallway, twisting through the corridor past confused looking teachers chatting during their break.  They got to end of the hallway in time to see the back of Dick’s grey hoodie looking out the glass door.

“Dick?” Mr. Wayne called out, slowing down to approach the boy.

Dick didn’t move, instead remained looking out the window as if transfixed, the dull glow of a foggy day casting a strange light on his face. His head was turned just enough so that the mismatched trio could see his eyes wide as saucers and his lips moving ever so slightly.

They couldn’t hear what he was whispering, but as Dick whispered the voice in Megan’s head responded and she knew.

“It can’t be. It’s not real. It’s not real. It-it can’t be here. It’s. _Not. Real_.”

Real? What was he looking at? What did he see? Megan wondered, her mind curious for answers. Before she realized it, she felt herself slip into… something. A fuzzy image appeared before her eyes like tunnel vision. A black figure against a red and white background with two glowing yellow eyes. An instant later it was gone, and Megan’s eyes refocused to reality. Before here, she saw Dick let out a small cry. His hands snapped up to clutch his temples as his knees gave out. He was out cold before his body even hit the ground.

Before his head could bounce against the hard tile; however, Bruce’s hand shot out to catch him. The man looked down at the boy and didn’t understand why his heart was pounding so hard.

“He’s got a fever. I’m taking him to the nurse.”   As Mr. Wayne carried the boy, she heard him wonder why Dick was so light. 

Megan felt herself back up until she felt the wall on her back then slowly slid down, watching Mr. Wayne and Dick go all the while.  Connor was near her, unsure what to do, and she offered no advice. Her mind was panicking too loudly to care. _What had she just done?_


	4. The Duplicitous Edge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Exams are over for now and another chapter is up! Huzzah! I'd like to clarify that I'm not going to have a steady update schedule due to a) life and b) making sure that the chapters that go up aren't rushed. That being said, I think I can average a chapter a week. Lucky for you, the next chapter, however, is almost done and will be up soon.  
> Additionally, about Megan's 'powers', this is the only semi-supernatural/superpower element in the story. But, I figured there's people out here in meatspace who believe in ESP so we're going to suspend disbelief and run with it. She's not an alien, doesn't fly, and doesn't have telekinesis; but, it's going to be a good time -- I promise.  
> Thank you for reading and reviewing, I love hearing your thoughts! Keep on rockin' fellas.

As Dick slowly came to, the first thing he was aware of was the pounding ache in his head. With a groan he squinted against the harsh light, rubbing his face until the sting dulled enough for him to fully open his eyes.

_What the heck?_ He wasn’t in his room, but instead on a blue plastic covered mattress in a dark, white tiled room. _A hospital?_ The thought made his heart quicken until he turned to see the school nurse at her desk a few beds over.  He breathed a sigh of relief.  Hospitals were a slew of trouble he didn’t want to deal with. All the questions about who he was, why he had so many bruises…

Dick forced himself to sit up, racking his brain as he did. It came back to him in slow snapshots. The job the night before… the beating… Kaldur’s smile… no time for painkillers… the shadow on the side of the school. A fresh wave of adrenaline flooded his system.  _The shadow_.

He had seen it. He had actually _seen_ it.  He had only been pausing to catch his breath between classes, when he had paused to look outside and _he had seen it_. A black figure like night itself grew legs and wove itself a cloak of nightmares to billow around it like smoke, perched on the roof of his school, peering into a classroom like a pigeon.  He knew it like he knew the sound of his mother’s scream as she died. They had both been there that night.

Still up on the perch, high above the chaotic crowd, above _the bodies_ , he had screamed, wailing to the sky.  Out of the blur of tears, he had had seen it move. A shadow contorted in the darkened rafters of the circus tent.  Invisible to the audience below but nearly at eye level from this height. He might not have even noticed it from how well it blended with the darkness if it hadn’t opened its eyes. 

Yellow. Yellow eyes like the black alley cats his mother had teasingly warned him of. But empty like the headlights of a train coming straight for you. Yesterday, he had seen those same eyes again.  While he was frozen in place, the shadow had _moved_. Twisting its view from the window to look at him, the two yellow eyes. Dick had felt his heart stop. He had seen it, and it had seen him.

As the memories came back, Dick lifted his trembling hands to hold his head. He had recognized it immediately, but then it was like he was forced to remember _why_. The memory came to the forefront of his mind like it had been ripped by an invisible force from its place in the darkest corner of his brain and painfully shoved into the blinding light.  Dick shook his head. He didn’t want to remember why. He didn’t want to remember because _it wasn’t real_.

It felt real, it felt so, _so_ painfully real. He had told the police, the social worker, the appointed counselor at the detention center, anyone who would listen.

_It was the shadow man! He was there, in the rafters! He had something to do with this! It wasn’t an accident – I know it wasn’t!_

It sounded crazy. Even to his nine year old self it sounded crazy, and that’s what they called him. Told him again and again between doses of white pills that he was just imagining things. To cope. A minor psychotic breakdown.  Until he learned to stop talking about the shadow, started tossing the pills, and told them it was an accident like they wanted to hear.  Years later, it was almost easier to believe the lie and just _not think about it_.

But, he had _seen_ it. Was he going crazy? Had Martin finally broke his mind without him even realizing it? How did you even tell when you’ve started to lose your grip on reality? Inside his chest, Dick’s heart pounded. It wasn’t real. But he had seen it. It wasn’t real, but he had seen it.

“Richard?” A course but female voice pulled him out of his swirling thoughts. The nurse was standing over his bed, one hand on her massive hip. Her too-red lips were pursed as if she was fed up with her job although it was still only Tuesday. “How are you feeling?”

_Lousy._ “Fine, just a bit of a headache.”  The woman merely grunted and whipped out a thermometer and instructed him to put it under his tongue. Reading it a moment later she nodded absently.

“Seems like your fever went away. I can give you some Tylenol, but it looks like you’ve already used your three per semester.  I’ll have to call your parents first.”

“ _No_. I-it’s not that bad. I’ll be fine.”

“Fine,” the woman shrugged. “You’ve got about five minutes before the last period,” she said as she went back to her desk.

Dick used three of those minutes to sit on the edge of the bed, forcing his heart to still and pushing the clawing, anxious thoughts down.  Worrying about it wouldn’t do him any good.  He took on last deep breath and forced himself to get up and go to class. 

As he left the nurse’s room, however, he was surprised to see a smiling Megan outside the door.  “Hello, Dick.”

“Megan, um, hi.” It wasn’t that he was unhappy to see her but, “Were you waiting for me?”

The girl laughed nervously, “I saw you pass out earlier, and I was worried. I was the one who got Mr. Wayne to take you to the nurse.”

_Bruce had taken him to the nurse?_ Dick felt his cheeks heat up. _Just how many people had seen him pass out?_ “Oh. Well, thank you.”

The pair walked to Bruce’s class in an awkward silence. He could tell Megan wanted to say something more, but was keeping her mouth shut.  Ordinarily, he might have tried to crack a joke or say something to ease the tension, but his headache only seemed to worsen as he pushed himself into the bright, loud, and crowded calls.  Admittedly, one less voice wasn’t unwelcome.  When they took their seats, Dick could practically feel Megan still looking at the back of his head. He pulled his sweatshirt closer to his neck, checking to make sure the sleeves were pulled down far enough.

Looking up, Dick noticed Bruce was staring at him as well from behind his desk.

“I’m surprised you’re in class, Dick.  Are you feeling better?”  From the front of the class, Dick saw Wally twist in his seat to look at him with concern and confusion.  Somewhere in the class, a snicker broke loose. Mike Jeneus, a short and talented kid with a shaved head who, unfortunately, shared a lot of Dick’s advanced classes.

“Yeah, _Dick_. Did you enjoy your nap, princess?” Mike said from two desks to the right with a smirk.  _Asterous._

Dick just turned away. Overhead, the bell rang out, and Dick resisted the urge to simply put his head on the desk and pass out for a second time.

“Alright, knock it off. Pass up your homework and get out your books. Let’s get started.”

The class passed at a snail’s pace. Just his luck it was a lecture day. As Bruce began to drone, the second hand was ticking in time with the slow pulsing ache in his head that, overtime, spread down his spine and radiated out along his back.  While he wanted nothing more than to lean back and zone out, the stiff plastic chair pressed against the still too fresh welts that seemed intent on making themselves known.  Instead, Dick found himself with his eyes glued to the clock, watching every twitch of the red needle as his hands clench and unclench from white knuckled fists, forcing himself to put his attention anywhere else. 

A small tap on his shoulder made his jump, until he turned and realized it was only Megan.  She leaned in and turned her hand over to reveal two pills in her hand.

“It’s Tylenol,” she whispered.  Dick didn’t hesitate to take them from her hand and tossed them back dry.

“ _Thank you_.” He knew it wasn’t the best idea to take drugs from random classmates, but he was too sore to care why she would make the offer.  Mentally, Dick made a note to repay her eventually.

The last few minutes of class, Dick tried to force himself to tune back into the lecture while waiting anxiously for the drugs to kick in. When the final bell rang, he could have cried.

As students pushed their way out of the classroom, Dick hurriedly put his things away. He wanted to stay and talk with Bruce. He wanted to work the code, he wanted to ask what Bruce had learned, and he wanted to put off having to see Martin’s ugly face again. But, he also didn’t want to have to hear the pity in Bruce’s voice or have to answer his questions. The man was a detective for crying out loud. If anyone was going to figure out what was going on between him and Martin and get him thrown back in the Detention Center, it was Bruce.

No, it was better if he just started walking.  Pulling his backpack onto his shoulder, he felt a thud as it hit something.

“Whoa! Watch it!” Wally called, rubbing his chest where the bag had hit him.

_Not today, Wally_ , he thought, nervously glancing at Bruce who was still cleaning the whiteboard. He didn’t have time for Wally’s excuses for why he couldn’t ever hang out anymore. “Sorry, dude,” he mumbled, trying to push past him.

“It’s cool. But, hey, are you ok? You look awful. Are you sick or something?”

“Look, I’m fine. I just gotta get to the house.” He said, trying again to get past Wally who side stepped to block his way again.

“C’mon, Dick. I’m worried about you.  Plus, I owe you one. We still have to hang out, go to the comic store like you said.”

“Today?”

“Well… No, I got--”

“Practice. Yeah, I know.”

There was a beat of silence, and Dick forced himself to keep his face impassive. He didn’t want to be mad at Wally.

“Look, what if I skipped practice tomorrow? I’ll tell them my mom schedule an appointment I forgot about. We can do whatever you want. We could go to that burger joint you like – all on me.”

“I… Ok.”

Wally grinned, “Cool. I’d say I’ll text you, but I keep forgetting you don’t have one.” Dick just shrugged. He didn’t want a phone. Martin would only end up reading everything he did or said on it anyways. “Oh well. Hey, I gotta go, but I’m here for you, bro. You can tell me stuff.”

“Yeah,” Dick forced a small smile. _Liar_. “Of course. See you later.”

Wally dashed out the door with a wave, and Dick was almost out when he felt a hand on his shoulder and flinched. _Why did everyone always have to touch him?_

“Dick, can you wait a minute?” He sighed and turned to face the detective.  “How are you?”

“Look, Megan told me what you did earlier. Thanks, but I’m fine.”

The corner of Bruce’s mouth quirked down. Suddenly, the back of the man’s hand was on his forehead. The memory of his father feeling his forehead flashed in his mind’s eye, and Dick felt himself jerk away from both the memory and the touch.  “Don’t _do_ that,” he heard himself say despite how nice the cool of Bruce’s hand had been.

Bruce pulled his hand back quickly, looking almost embarrassed. “Sorry.” Bruce took only a moment to recompose himself before continuing. “You didn’t turn in the assignment again.”

“I know.”

“It’s going to start affecting your grade.”

“And you’re wearing the same pants as yesterday. Can we be done stating the obvious now?”

Bruce sighed, rubbing a hand to his forehead.

“Dick, what are you planning on doing with your life?”

Dick opened his mouth to reply, then closed it. He didn’t actually know. He knew if he tried, if he found the time to put into his studies, he could get into a college. But, there was no way Martin would pay for it, and he had no money of his own. His parent’s small inheritance had quickly disappeared once Martin adopted him. In all honesty, he had always assumed Martin would kill him when he outlived his usefulness.

“Dick, you’re a smart kid. I don’t want to see you--”

With a scoff, Dick stepped forcibly backwards. “I’m not your son, Bruce.”  Instantly, he almost regretted the harsh words at seeing the surprise on Bruce’s face. Like it hadn’t occurred to him that he was acting paternally or maybe he didn’t think Dick would ever refuse him like this. 

“Look,” Dick started slowly. “I like working cases with you. I really do. But… But, I’m _not_ your son.” He repeated again, as if he was reminding himself as well. “So… let’s just… not lie to each other like that, ok?”

“Alright,” Bruce said. “Do you… want to talk about the case?”

Dick just shook his head. “Not today.  I just want to go.  I… I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Bruce nodded slowly, and inwardly Dick thought it was probably for the best that Bruce didn’t have kids.  Without waiting for a response, he turned and left, barreling through the halls before Bruce had a chance to stop him.

Throwing out his arms, he pushed the metal double doors open and promptly ran head first into a wall. Unable to stop a gasp of surprise, Dick rubbed his nose as he stumbled backwards to see that he hadn’t run into a wall, but a person.

The tall, muscular boy turned, his blue eyes narrowing as he locked eyes.

“Sorry,” Dick mumbled, stepping around only to see Megan’s head pop out from the other side of the human meat shield.

“Oh, hi Dick! Have you met Connor? I think you two would get along,” she chirped as if Connor wasn’t still looking at him suspiciously.

“Uh, no... I don’t think so.”

“Well, now you have. Dick meet Connor. Connor meet Dick.” Connor grunted, still watching him too closely for comfort. Dick took a cautious step away, trying to distance himself.

“Nice to meet you… Look I’ve gotta--” he started, but Megan was quick to interrupt him.

“Wait, don’t go. I-I’m sorry if I’m being too forward. I just really want to get to know you. I think we could all be really good friends. I wanted to ask if you had some time to hang out today.  You don’t have anywhere to be, do you?”

“I—no, I don’t.” He really didn’t. Martin never cared how he spent his time if there wasn’t a job to be done, and he was in no hurry to get back now that his headache had finally died down. Plus, he reminded himself, he _did_ owe her one.

“Great! Because I found something really neat the other day. I think you two will like it.” With that, Megan turned and lightly bounded down the steps.

Dick turned to Connor, “Is she always like this?”

“Pretty much,” the taller boy said with a shrug. Dick smiled before following suit.

Megan led them around the back of the school, chatting all the while.

“Gotham city is so huge! I mean, it’s beautiful in its own way, but it always seems like there’s some sort of crime going on. My mom told me to always keep pepper spray and a Swiss Army knife on me just in case.  How about you guys? Are you native to Gotham?”

“I am,” Connor said laconically.

“I figured. I bet no one would mess with you on the street. I hope not anyways. How about you, Dick?”

_Oh geez_. He knew it was a simple question, but Megan was unknowingly getting close to a very uncomfortable topic. There was no good way to say _I grew up in a travelling circus_. Details, they always wanted details…

“No, but I’ve been here long enough to get comfortable.”  It wasn’t a lie. He did like the city, even if a lot of its people were scummy.  It made for when he ran into genuine people precious, like diamonds formed under the extreme pressures of a chaotic environment. Gotham was full of people who remade themselves into something that was capable of survival.  A city of terrible evils, but also of great humanity. This was the city his parents were buried in. Like it or not, he knew he was one of them.

To Dick’s great relief, Megan simply nodded and continued talking. “Cool. I hope I settle in quickly. Navigating the train system is so confusing…”

They continued walked, and it occurred to Dick where Megan was taking them.  “We’re going to the park behind the school?”

Her face brightened, “Yeah! Have you been there?”

“A couple times, but it’s just a patch of trees behind a rusted swing set.”

Megan laughed and winked, “I think there’s something there you haven’t seen.” Dick looked to Connor for a better answer, but he just shrugged.

The trio slipped behind the empty play set, Dick spotted the track on the other side of the school. _Wally better win that stupid track meet for all he’s been practicing,_ Dick thought with more bitterness than he cared to admit to.  Pushing away the thought, he followed Connor and Megan into the makeshift woods.

The patchwork forest wasn’t nearly thick enough to convince anyone they had stumbled into the real thing. The highway and the din of the city could still be heard without much effort. But, a little ways in and, with the way the sunlight slipped through the leaves, one could definitely fool themselves it was real.  Looking down, Dick noticed that the ground was littered with cigarette butts and used up joints from where the self-proclaimed “cool kids” spent their lunch hour. Well, if one pretended really hard, anyways.

“I don’t understand why they would put this here,” Connor muttered, mostly to himself.

“I think it was cheaper than a fence,” Dick suggested. “This way they can claim to be ‘environmentally conscious.’”

“Look,” Megan waved them forward. “It’s up here,” she said pointing.

“What the hell?”


	5. Targets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one week, whaaat? Consider it an apology for the cliffhanger. We're getting into the good stuff, now. Enjoy! As a side note, if there is anything you all would like to see (fluff, angst, pairings, more angst...) or suggestions you have I can't guarantee anything but would love to hear! As always, thank you for reading!

In the middle of the trees, the three looked around in awe.

Nailed to the tree trunks, hanging from the branches, and wedged between the leaves were a dozen or more painted targets made of foam. Each one speckled with holes, Dick noticed as he inspected one closer. An impressive number of the hits had been in the direct or near center.

“Isn’t this neat? It’s like an obstacle course for archers!” Megan chirped.

“I didn’t know we had an archery club,” Connor said, looking around.

Dick shook his head. “We _don’t_.” 

_How long had this been here?_ “Megan,” He turned to ask when a hiss followed by a blur passed over Megan’s head. She let out a shrill yelp.

Just behind the girl’s left ear, the freshly implanted arrow sat in the target’s center, its green feathers blending in with the green and brown leaves of early fall.

“Megan!” Conner barked, instantly by her side. Concern furrowed his features one moment then rage the next. “Who’s there? Show yourself!”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Megan assured, gently pushing Connor’s hands away. From the far side of the woods came the crunch of sticks until a girl with a long blonde ponytail stepped forward, looking somewhere between surprised and pissed off.

“What are you doing here?” The girl demanded, one hand gripping a green compound bow and the other a loose arrow. There was a full quiver slung over her shoulder.

“Us?” Connor growled back, stepping closer to the newcomer. “What are you doing? You almost _shot_ her!”

“Then, _maybe_ , she shouldn’t have been standing next to a _target_.”

Quickly, Megan pushed herself between the two. “Connor, its fine. I’m ok.” Then, turning to the archer, “I think we got off on the wrong foot. I saw the targets earlier and thought they were part of the school. They’re really neat; I didn’t know they were yours. Here,” She stuck out her hand, “I’m Megan.”  She introduced, smiling brightly.

The girl just looked from Megan’s hand to her face like Megan was presenting her with a dead dog instead of an open handshake. “No, I don’t think so.”

Megan’s face fell. “What?”

“I _said_ no,” The blonde repeated more forcefully.  “Go. Away.”

Dick took a step closer. This was not going well, and he really didn’t want to piss off the girl with a bow and steel tipped arrows.  “Come on…” He started.

“What do you want, Shorty?” The girl snapped at him.

_Short jokes? Really?_ Dick was about to swallow his pride, when an idea stuck him.

A devious smile slipped onto his lips “So, do you know how to use that bow?” He said coyly.

The girl scoffed, pointing the arrow to the struck target that had been dangerously close to Megan’s head. “What do you think?”

“Well, then how about a challenge of marksmanship?”

Her eyes narrowed as she tried to decide if he was serious. “And, why would I do that?”

“Because if I win, you’ll apologize to Megan and tell us about yourself.” Her mouth opened to retort, but he wasn’t done. “And, if _you_ win, we’ll leave you alone and not _report_ you for firing weapons on school grounds.”

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out as she shook her head in disbelief. “You little...Fine. _Fine_. But, you still don’t have anything to shoot with.”

“Hey Megan,” he called with a smile, “You still got that Swiss on you?” Megan’s eyes were wide with surprise as she watched the exchange, but silently handed over the red pocketknife.

The girl scoffed. “I don’t know if you’re stupid or just a sucker for attention, but whatever. Let’s do this. Best out of ten targets.”

“Ladies first,” Dick said with his best shit-eating grin and a flourish of the hand. 

Connor and Megan backed out of the targeting area. As they did, he heard Connor whisper, “Are we really going to report her?”

The blonde stepped forward with confidence, ignoring his antics. She raised the bow, closed one eye, and let out a slow and even breath. There was a beat of silence. Then, she fired.

In rapid fire, ten pops filled the air as then arrows flew and sunk into the surrounding targets.  

“Eat your heart out, _shrimp_.”

When she was done, Dick stepped closer to see her handiwork. Eight targets were hit dead center, one was just off the middle, and one had the arrow stuck near the edge of the target.

Dick resisted the urge to whistle in awe.

“All right, your turn. You need nine bull’s-eyes with your little toothpick to win,” she said after removing her arrows.

Dick simply shrugged as he took her place, eyeing the different targets around him. He opened the blade, closed one eye, and squared himself with the first target.  _I really hope I remember how to do this…_

He took in a breath and held it, then let the blade fly through his fingertips. _Twap!_

From the sidelines, Megan let out a laugh. The pocketknife had landed, its point struck in the pure center of the target.  He shot the blonde girl a smile as he retrieved the knife. She didn’t seem impressed. “I don’t know why you’re smiling, you still have eight more.”

Dick felt his grin only widen.  _Twap! Twap! Twap!_

It was riding a bike, he thought as he hit the fifth bull’s-eye then the sixth. How many hours had he spent begging Julian Leblanc to teach him to throw knives? How many more had he spent throwing Julian’s old knives, his father’s pocket blade, and his mother’s kitchen cutlery into the small target on the side of their trailer? Julian had always he had a knack for it. He had even let him be a part of his act a couple times.  As the seventh knife hit the target, he let a chuckle slip loose. It felt so incredibly good to do this again after so long, like he was somehow closer to home.

One more target left. Dick couldn’t help himself. Turning to the girl he smirked, “Watch _this_.”

Dick had an audience once again.  With the spot light on him, he knew he couldn’t miss.  With a flick of his wrist, the blade flew head over heels of itself toward a target on the center of the tree. However, instead of sticking, the knife tapped the red eye and immediately bounced, arching backwards to stick in a lower target behind him. _Nine bull’s-eyes_.

As Dick moved to retrieve the blade, fold it, and gently hand it back to Megan, there was silence as the three tried to figure out what they had just seen.

It wasn’t roaring applause, but it would do.

“How…” The girl started, “The _fuck_ … did you do that?”

 “I’ve had some training,” he said with a shrug. Julian was world-class, and he had taught him well. It really hadn’t been a fair contest, but she was the one who started with the short joke.

“We won,” Connor said, coming closer. “Now, you have to apologize.”  The blonde sighed.

“Alright, fine. I am sorry I almost hit you. Look, can you please not tell the school about this? This is the only place I can practice.”

Megan was the one to speak up next, “It’s all right, we won’t tell. But, I _would_ like something in return.”

The blonde looked nervous, “And what’s that?”

“That you come get food with us, I’m starving.”

A few minutes and short walk down the block found the four at a local deli, Dick shuffling through his bag to find some cash. He placed notebooks and some papers down on the booth as he tried to find the twenty dollars he had stuffed in the bottom months ago. It was supposed to be for emergencies, but he was enjoying the company and wasn’t quite ready to give it up just yet. 

In truth, he hadn’t spent time with anyone besides Bruce or Martin in what felt like a long while. Being in the cramped deli between three smiling people his own age as they talked and quipped felt right somehow.  This was like… a friendship emergency. Yeah, that was it.  Eventually, he found the crumpled bill tucked in the bottom fold of the bag.

Megan must have noticed his struggle, because she came up and said softly, “I’m sorry I didn’t even ask if you had extra money on you. If you want, I’d be happy to get you something.”

“No, no,” he said waving her off, and flashing the bill. “I’ve got it.” When it was his turn, however, he quickly ordered the cheapest sandwich on the menu, praying he hadn’t jinxed himself for later.

The four squeezed into the red, plastic booth, when the archer who’s name (ironically) turned out to be Artemis, leaned down to pick up a piece of paper from the floor.

“Hey, I think this fell out of your bag,” she said lifting it up. As she brought it closer, Dick inwardly winced as her eyes widened. In her hand was Bruce’s code, filled with scrawls and the marks between the densely packed rows of gibberish from where he had erased previous layers of notes.  “Whoa, what is _this_?”

“It’s just a project,” he said, making a grab for the paper but Artemis held it out of his reach, using a foot to pin him in the corner of the booth.

“No way, this is nutty. Front and back too? What is this, a word search on steroids?”

Dick only continued to struggle, pushing Artemis’s feet away and making another grab for the paper. “It’s really _nothing_.”

“Come on, Dick,” Megan tried. Her big doe eyes flashing sweetly as she pushed her red hair behind her ears. “You can tell us.”

Dick let out an exasperated sigh. “It’s just something I’m working on for B-- Mr. Wayne. A code. It doesn’t matter because I can’t figure it out. I’ve just been working on it in my spare time.”

“Why is it so hard,” Connor asked, seeming genuinely curious. The two girls leaned in to hear his response, intrigued by the puzzle before them.

“It’s just… I can’t get it to make any sense.” Dick started slowly. However, once he started talking, he felt the words easier to find until they just seemed to fall out of his mouth.  “I first thought that it could be a one to one translation with some letter representing a space between words since there’s no break, but that was wrong. I’ve tried using every two coded letters for one true letter, then three to one and four to one. After that, I thought they could be using two alternating codes, but the pattern isn’t the same throughout the code.” It wasn’t often that someone was interested in what he was doing. It was… a nice feeling to watch the weird, misshapen trio of people watch with seemingly genuine interest as he talked.

He took the paper and laid it in the center of the table, pushing the forgotten sandwiches aside. “If there were two alternating codes you’d see every other line or something like that fit to the same pattern and the rest to another. But, it’s like there’s completely different things going in multiple random parts of the code. Like someone dropped ink splatters across the paper and said _this_ is where the real code is. Some of it could very well be meaningless symbols but it’s so dense and I don’t see _where_.”

Dick couldn’t help but run a hand through his hair. He had spent so long looking at this code, and he was still nowhere near a solution.  “There’s a phenomenon associated with the frequency of the words. Where, the most frequent word in any text used is usually ‘the’ and the next is ‘and’ then ‘of’ and so on. It applies to many languages, so looking at this code there’s got to be some pattern here, with the most frequent pattern likely being associated with one of these words. But, it’s just _not there_. It’s like the pattern keeps changing and what makes sense for the one part is complete nonsense for the rest!”

Dick threw up his hands as he finished his cathartic rant, and leaned back into the booth. He ended up pressing too hard, sending a flash of pain across his back, and forcing himself to sit up straight again with a wince. He opted instead lean his elbows on the table as his table mates exchanged glances.

“That…” Artemis started, looking between the code and Dick, “is some crazy shit.” He wasn’t sure which she was referring to.

“Where did this come from?” Megan asked.

Dick shook his head, “Bruce doesn’t know. There were other files too, a letter and a picture.  Something about his legacy… and that he was being watched. It all could be really important, or it could just be one big joke.”

Connor looked at Dick seriously, “Someone wouldn’t go do all this just for a prank. That doesn’t make sense.”

“I think it’s possible.” Dick responded, propping his head on his hand. “If someone really wanted to mess with Bruce, sending him an unsolvable puzzle would definitely mess with him. Or, at least distract him for a while.”

“We should talk to Mr. Wayne,” Megan piped up. “Maybe we could help.”

What? Of all things, he hadn’t expected her to say that.  “I don’t know. I-I shouldn’t have said anything about the code. I wasn’t supposed to talk about it…” Why did he have to go and open his big mouth? This was a secret message for crying out loud. It could end up being extremely personal to Bruce or, worse, extremely dangerous. For all he knew, they could treat this as a giant game of Clue.

“But, if Mr. Wayne really is in trouble, then we have to help him.” Megan countered with all seriousness.  Dick didn’t like the determined look in her eye.

“Wait,” Artemis interrupted. “Isn’t he some great detective? If he can’t figure out something, what makes you think that we could do it?”

“Just because he’s a good detective doesn’t mean he doesn’t help. You don’t have to help, Artemis,” Megan said, locking eyes with the archer. “But, I _do_ know you care about Mr. Wayne. So, if this mystery really turns out to be something important, are you really going to sit by when he needs help?”

Artemis looked taken aback. “I…” She started before recollecting herself. “No, I won’t.  Dick,” the blonde turned to look him square. “If Mr. Wayne is in trouble I want in.  I… owe him one.”

“Me too.” Dick looked up at Connor. “I want to help.”

“Guys,” Dick said weakly, unsure of what he had just started. “I don’t know if Bruce, erm, Mr. Wayne even wants the help.”

Connor cocked his head, “Then, why did he show _you_ the code?”

“I--” Dick stopped. Bruce had been showing him tips and tricks of his detective work for a while. But, he had never chosen to look a rare gift horse in the mouth and ask why.  Did Bruce give him the code because he thought Dick could solve it? Or just as some excuse to get him to stop bothering him after school? “I don’t know. He’s shown me a couple of his cases before,” Dick said trying to sound nonchalant.

Artemis looked around the table and crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, it looks like we’re all on board now. Besides, who doesn’t like a little adventure?”  She leaned down to pick up her backpack and bow case off the diner floor. “We’re going to talk about this more later, but my mom’s expecting me, and I have to get going. Later.” Megan called a goodbye, but before Artemis left the diner she turned and called back. “Oh and Dick! You have to show me how you did that knife trick sometime!”

Dick laughed, “I promise.  But, I really should get going soon too.”

“Actually, can I talk with you outside for a moment?” Megan asked.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” He said, stuffing the forgotten sandwich in his bag. Megan wiggled out of the booth and led him out the door of the diner onto the front sidewalk. The main window was large enough to see Connor absently eating his sandwich. “What did you want to talk about?”

Megan took a deep breath before the words fell out of her mouth in one breath. “Look, I know you have a lot on your plate right now, and you’re worried about what Bruce might think of putting together this… team, but I really do think it’s for the best. I know we’re all a little odd, but I think all of us together can really be something greater than the sum of our parts.” Then, Megan glanced around as if any of the passersby cared enough to listen in before continuing quietly.

“And… I think there’s something… dark going on in Gotham. No, I-I _know_ there is. I can feel it. I think it has something to do with this code and Mr. Wayne. And, I think you know it too.” She looked him in the eye, her green eyes clear and serious.  “You’re not crazy, Dick.”

Dick’s eyes widened. Did she know about the shadow man? Had _she_ seen it? But, _no_ , she couldn’t be referring to _that_. The psychotic delusions of scared kid. But, the way she spoke, it sounded like that’s exactly what she was talking about.

Instead of asking what he really wanted to, Dick chose his words carefully. “If this really turns out to be something real, something not just dangerous but _Gotham-level_ dangerous, do you really think four kids can stop it?”

She let out a breath, her face tense like she had been thinking about this for a long while. “No.”

“Then, what are we--” Megan held up her hand.

“No, I don’t think four _kids_ can. But, I think _six_ of _us_ have a chance. I think we’re needed here to do something. I can’t really explain it, Dick, but this _has_ to happen. There’s something way bigger than anything Mr. Wayne has ever seen coming this way. He’s going to need us. Gotham is going to need us.”

“Wait, but you said _six_ …”

Megan only smiled and shook her head. “You’ll see eventually. I promise I’ll explain it to you later. I trust you, Dick.”

“We only just met yesterday.”

She laughed easily, “I know. But, we’re friends now, aren’t we?”

“I… Yeah, I guess we are.”

Megan waved as she moved to go back into the deli, “Have a good night, Dick.”

“You too.”

Dick turned and slowly walked down the block, a strange lightness in his chest. _A team, huh_? Dick let out a carefree chuckle. _Well, alright then._

 

~             ~             ~

 

It was nearing dinner time when Kaldur finally left the school. He breathed in the musty Gotham air. Everything here was so different here than his old home, even the air felt strange.  Kaldur did his best not to focus on how much he missed home, he really did. But, his quiet town by the water, the laughter of his best friend Garth, Tula’s beautiful smile. The weekends they spend together on Garth’s family boat, swimming in the harbor until the sun went down felt like a lifetime ago.  He really did miss them.

School was a welcome distraction. He had always taken pleasure in his studies and lately he had taken to schoolwork with an almost feverous effort.  It seemed lately that the only time he wasn’t studying was during swim practice -- the practices were the highlight of his day.  The cool of the water never failed to clear his mind as he slipped under the surface like a fish. Then there was Mr. Curry, always there to offer advice and praise, always seeming to know just what to say.

The man seemed confident that when competition season came around that Kaldur would be certain to bring home a prize and often told him so. He wasn’t sure what he had done to deserve this man’s high favors, but he intended to work hard to be worthy all the same.

Outside of practice, however, Kaldur could admit that his social life was nonexistent.  He told himself that was irrelevant. His fellow swimmers seemed nice enough and were always willing to chat, but had never offered any further extension of friendship.  He certainly did not want to go where he was not welcome, and the native Gothamites seemed too complicated for him to make the first move. Kaldur had never been the type to push, anyways.

Then again, perhaps if he was more willing to be extroverted, he wouldn’t have lost track of time in the library and now be tasked with having to wander home in the late twilight.  When he moved to Gotham, he had been strictly told to _never_ go out at night, and he had no desire to test the imposition.

As Kaldur made his way down the worn steps of Justice High; however, he couldn’t help but take a moment to pause. Everyone had gone home hours ago, and it suddenly struck him as odd that in such a huge city with _thousands_ of people that he should be find a spot to be alone. Beyond the limits of the school grounds, he could the din of the traffic, ambulance sirens wailing in the distance, and the babble of the Gothamites going home or leaving to start a late night shift sounded like a dulled hum.  

Absently, Kaldur trailed a hand along the line of trees that lined the walk. Behind him, the constant lights of the school cast a yellow glow onto the sidewalk. He could see the faint outline of someone still working at their desk in one of the windows.  Then, Kaldur heard something else, something that didn’t fit in with the quiet babble. A rustle and a scratch from the tree above him.

Kaldur turned to look up. He did not know what he expected. A bird or perhaps a squirrel. Instead, Kaldur looked up to see a pair of bright yellow lights gleaming at him from between the leaves of the tree.

“Augh!” Kaldur couldn’t help but shout as he jerked away, stumbling backwards. _That… was NOT a squirrel_.

He put a hand to his chest, feeling his heart beating harshly through his skin.  For a moment, he gathered his breath, recollecting his thoughts before he let out a laugh. _It was cat. Glowing yellow eyes, come on now, I must pass ten every day._ Maybe he really was spending too much time at the library, it was making him too jumpy.  Kaldur shook his head, glad no one was around to see his minor freak out, and calmly walked towards the tree again.

“Here kitty,” he said softly towards the tree leaves, clucking his tongue. However, as he looked, walking around the tree, there was no sign of the cat.  _It was just there…_

“Come back, friend. I didn’t mean scare you.” Kaldur murmured. He had not seen it leave the tree, but, then again, he was not exactly at peak attentiveness at the moment.

He set his hands on his hips. Well, he wasn’t going to spend all night chasing a stray. He was about to start heading towards the bus stop when he felt two weights settle on his body – one on his shoulder and the other against the base of his head in an iron tight grip.

“Oh, you’re not scaring anything.” A low voice whispered in his ear.

Something cold and metal pressed against his skin like claws, holding his head in place. He didn’t dare to move, didn’t dare _breathe_.

“Go _home_ , fish-boy. You have no business looking for _cats_.”

Kaldur’s heart was in his throat. At his side, his hands shook violently.  His mind was blank with terror.  He was going to die. This thing could _kill him_ right now and he was utterly powerless to stop it. His tongue lie useless, too petrified to even dare beg for mercy.

The thing seemed to sense this and chuckle. “Here is what is going to happen. I am going to count to three, and you are going to _run_. Run as fast as you can and never go poking around where you shouldn’t ever again. Because if you do, if you stop, if you look back… I will cut your throat like the insignificant thing you are.  Understand? One… Two…”

The grip on his skull tightened, something sharp digging into his skin. “ _Three_.” Suddenly the pressure was gone, and so was Kaldur. He bolted, feet slapping against the pavement as he ran as fast as he could go. Past the bus stop and past the people on the street shouting at him to get out of the way, until he came to the door of his house, red faced and out of breath.

The door slammed shut behind him, and Kaldur immediately locked both of the locks before sinking to the floor. He placed his head on his knees, forcing his breath to go back to normal as his heartbeat continued to its erratic temp.

A _monster_.  A real monster with claws like a crow and yellow eyes like demon flashed behind his closed eyelids.

His shivering hand wiped the thick sweat from the back of his neck. When it came away, the beads of sweat had turned red as they mixed with his own blood. Kaldur stayed there on the floor for a long time, staring at blood on his hands while the tiny pinpricks clotted. He didn’t want to wash it away yet. The small red droplets were the only proof he had. 

When the feeling at come back to his legs, Kaldur pushed himself off the floor. Turning on the bathroom sink, he watched his own blood slip through his fingertips and trickle down the train. Out of sight.

So very far from out of mind.


End file.
